


Those Who Took To the Greenwood

by regshoe



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Bandits & Outlaws, F/F, Feminist Themes, Gen, LGBTQ Themes, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-08 06:45:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regshoe/pseuds/regshoe
Summary: The true story of Margaret Ford and the Master of Nottingham's daughter, amongst other outlaws.





	1. Chapter 1

‘And so wicked King Henry went back from the River Trent, and gave up all the land northwards to the new King. And ever since then he has sat on a throne in Newcastle with his lords and his fairies round about him, and all those who may go there to learn magic from them, and so it is that there are magicians now in England.’

‘Was that a very long time ago?’

‘Oh no, child,’ said the nurse, ‘it was not thirty years ago. I was a girl when we heard of the battle at Newark.’

Donata took this in, frowning. Thirty years seemed an immeasurable time to her five. Surely, she thought, the King would rule in Newcastle for ever and ever, and there would always be magicians in England. ‘When I am grown,’ she said presently, ‘I will go to Newcastle and see the fairies, and learn how to be a magician.’

Jane laughed; Donata didn’t know what was funny, but if Jane was happy then it must have been a good thing to say, and so she smiled with her. ‘I’m sure you will,’ she said, ‘one day, but now it’s time you were in bed. Come on.’

Donata got up and followed her from the room, unwilling to let her thoughts leave the subject of magic yet. That night her dreams were filled with fairy-hosts riding over the moors of Northumberland, and she woke to think again of the day when she would meet them.

*

She grew up, and learnt in time the proper cares and duties of the Master of Nottingham’s daughter, and thought no more of being a magician. Her father dabbled in magic, as many noble men (and a few noble women) did in those days, travelling to Newcastle for a few months to pay homage to the King and returning with a fairy-servant to add to his household at Nottingham. But her father’s magic seemed an awfully prosaic thing to Donata: little ornamental spells, things with which to decorate the hall for feasts and impress visitors from south of the river, a world away from the flights of ravens and the strange eerie grandeur of the magic in her old nurse’s stories. After all, she thought, the woman had never so much as seen a fairy; her stories had been no more than the fancy they seemed.

That was what Donata Torel, at the age of seventeen, thought of magic, and so when she heard the wild-looking stranger speaking to the people in Nottingham about magic she at first took little notice. However, this became increasingly difficult; people crowded round the platform where he stood, converged on the place from all the streets around, pressed closer to hear what he said, and Donata, attempting to reach the entrance to a side street, found herself blocked in. She stood back against the wall, waiting to let the people pass. The man had a powerful voice, and even at this distance she could hear clearly enough what he was saying to them; and, after a while, she began to listen.

‘They will lock magic up in halls and towers; they will try to lock it away from you. What they have is but a mockery and a sham of magic. No walls can hold the thing that magic truly is. It is in every stone and clod of earth and breath of air in England! Hear the words the sky will tell you, if you will only listen. Speak to the world, and trust that it will understand. Magic is no jester’s trick, my friends. It is the fulfilment—’

At this point a gap opened up in the wall of people between Donata and the street, and she made her escape, glancing back once to see the man standing with his arms raised to the sky, and the silent crowed watching him with undivided attention. Then she emerged into the courtyard, and they vanished from sight.

The next day she asked her father who the man was—she had done nothing wrong in happening to hear him, after all—and learnt that his name was Thomas Godbless and that he was a sort of wild magician, who had not studied at the King’s court, and as such his ideas about magic were utterly wrongheaded. She must not listen to him any more. In fact, after hearing his daughter’s report of the speech, Hugh Torel considered ordering Godbless banished from the town of Nottingham—let him say what he would about magic, he was a disturber of the peace—but there was no need, for Godbless left of his own accord the next day, and no one could say where he had gone.

Donata tried to do as she was told, to put the whole thing from her mind and order her days as they had been before, but she found it impossible. Her thoughts would keep returning to Godbless’s words. They moved like deep currents in her mind, and stirred up her old fascination with magic. Hear the words the sky will tell you... At last, having thought for far too long on what this might mean, she decided that she must do something, if only to prove to herself that Godbless’s speech had been no more than her father said it was.

Later, she would remember the day quite clearly. It was early in November, and Donata stood under a birch tree, the sounds of her father’s hall and of the surrounding town a distant murmur. She looked up at the sky, a patchwork of irregular shapes formed by the branches and the few straggling leaves, and held in her mind everything she had ever dreamt about magic. As she looked, it seemed to her that the pattern had meaning, that if she stood in a certain place and looked a certain way she would see it clearly, and if she understood—

Slowly, she brought her hand up, and the dead withered leaves around her rose up from the ground as if caught by a sudden wind; they swirled through the air and formed themselves into a vague shape. Donata thought it was a bird. She spoke a word to the air, and the thing stretched its wings and flew upwards. She watched it vanish from sight behind a tower.

A jester’s trick? Perhaps. But having once seen those strange ragged wings, having spoken to the sky and known herself understood, she must return—for she knew something now of what magic was, and of how much more she might do.

*

It was some eighteen months after this that John Ford, lord of the manor of Fiskerton, came up to Nottingham to visit her father. Donata had spent the time practising her magic at every opportunity she got, testing what it might achieve, surprising herself with how easy it was; sometimes in the garden, sometimes in her own chamber, and (since she had learnt how to keep her father from feeling any suspicion at her absence) stealing away to deserted places outside Nottingham for hours at a time, free from the worry of discovery. Of course, she had told no one what she did.

Now this visit, called by her father to discuss some question of taxes with John Ford and a few other lords—Donata did not worry about the details—provided an interruption to what had become the regular routine of her life. She was introduced to John Ford’s wife, who had accompanied him from Fiskerton: a tall, rather stern-looking woman a few years older than herself, whose name was Margaret. Though at first she had seemed cold and haughty, once away from the hall and the assembled lords Margaret Ford turned out to be quite pleasant company, and they spent much of the visit walking together in the garden, talking of whatever happened to be on their minds.

‘This is my favourite part of the garden,’ said Donata, as they reached the spot under the birch tree. A high yew hedge, running along the edge of a gravel walk, separated it from the rest of the garden, and the wall that shut out the town was a little way behind. ‘It’s so quiet here, you wouldn’t know where you were really. No one else comes here much, apart from the gardeners. I sometimes think I could almost be in Sherwood.’

Margaret gazed around, and then up at the tree, now clad in the bright green of early summer. ‘I think it’s lovely,’ she said. They sat together on a stone seat beneath the hedge, and she began to tell Donata about the wood near Fiskerton village where she often walked.

Presently, their conversation turned to the subject of magic.

‘I haven’t seen your father’s famous fairy-servant yet,’ said Margaret. ‘May we expect him to make an appearance?’

Donata frowned. She did not trust the fairy, and had been rather glad at his extended absence from Nottingham—on, so he claimed, a matter of the most vital importance in the land from whence he came, and whither Hugh Torel gave him leave to return when not occupied on his own business. She told Margaret as much.

‘Hmm. Well, I suppose...’ She trailed off, then said, ‘Are you fond of magic, Donata? I think it’s a beautiful thing.’

There was a pause, during which Donata’s mind ran swiftly back over a course that she had traced several times since becoming such friends with Margaret Ford: that here, perhaps, was someone to whom she might reveal her secret, who might hear her and not give her away. It was a terrible thing, having no one at all to talk to about a subject which had become so central to her life; and if Margaret liked magic... They were quite alone; she need only say something now, and—but she had hesitated too long already, and Margaret was looking at her quizzically.

‘It’s a fine amusement,’ said Donata hastily, ‘and I love to hear tales of the King and his fairies.’

‘Of course,’ said Margaret. ‘Fine stories they are, fairy-armies and great battles, though I always thought they were rather remote. I once heard—’ and she started off on an account of some old legend about Merlin, and the moment was lost.

*

When they met again the next day, Donata said, wasting no time, ‘Margaret, I want to tell you something. I thought of it yesterday, when I heard you talk so well of magic, but I was not—’ She broke off.

‘What is it?’ Margaret was smiling faintly, though Donata was too agitated to notice.

‘I am a magician.’

‘Ah...’ There was a long pause. At last Margaret said, ‘Your father does not know, I suppose?’

‘No. He has very decided views on women magicians, I’m afraid. I must keep the whole thing secret from him, and from everyone else—you’re the first person I’ve told.’

‘No, I understand,’ said Margaret. She continued, lightly, ‘When we were walking here the other day, I saw that the place was one where magic had been done, quite recently. And then, of course, you told me it was your favourite place, and that other people seldom came here—so, you see, I’m not surprised to hear it.’

Donata listened in growing amazement. ‘You saw that—but then, you’re also—’

Margaret nodded, a smile spreading across her face. The realisation was so wonderful, and her smile so lovely, that Donata must mirror the look, until they both at once burst into delighted laughter.

After that, of course, they talked of nothing but magic for the rest of the day. Margaret showed her a few spells, quite unlike anything Donata had seen before, and told her about the part of Faerie that she had visited some time ago; in turn Donata demonstrated some of her own spells. To talk of these things with a fellow magician, and to know herself recognised as a magician for the first time, was more wonderful than Donata could have thought. She felt more real in herself than she had for some time; and she had an idea that Margaret, whose thin face positively glowed as she described the fairy-hall under the hill outside the village, felt something similar.

Presently Donata said, ‘Have you told anyone else about this?—does your husband know?’

‘Not John,’ said Margaret, ‘but there are others. I think there are more women magicians in Nottinghamshire than Hugh Torel imagines, you know. From what I’ve seen plenty of them are like you, doing magic in secret.’

‘And you know them?’

‘Hmm.’ She nodded. ‘Some of them. There are half-a-dozen or so of us around Fiskerton, and I expect they know others. No—if I’m the first person you’ve told, don’t imagine that we’re alone in this.’

‘Could you introduce me to them?’ said Donata. ‘I would so much like to meet other magicians, and people I can tell about my own magic. You’ve already shown me so much I didn’t know—’

‘And you me,’ Margaret interrupted, and Donata blushed.

‘But think how much more we could all learn, all of us magicians, if we could meet together somehow. Form a sort of secret society of women magicians. It would have to be secret, of course.’

Margaret was looking thoughtful. ‘I think we could arrange something like it. It’s a risk, but... Yes, I’ll ask the others I know, when I return home.’

Before she left Nottingham, Margaret showed Donata a final spell, one for gathering the wind and using it to send messages across distance. She told her to expect such a message as soon as Margaret had consulted with the Fiskerton magicians.

*

The first meeting of their fellowship took place some three months later, in a little clearing in the wood by Gunthorpe, just before the summer dawn. There were about twenty magicians present: the women from around Fiskerton, others they knew from further afield, and a few who Donata had met and approached in Nottingham (once she had met one other magician who had hidden her magic, she found herself noticing the signs of magic in those around her, and had become quite skilled at sending discreet messages that they might understand). Beneath the trees it was still quite dark, and one of the magicians, a girl from Fiskerton named Alice Carter, cast a light-making spell to let them see where they walked. It was under this shifting, ethereal light, which had no definite source but seemed to fill all the air above their heads, fringing the hazel-leaves with gold, that Margaret stood to welcome them all to the gathering and explain its purpose. Here, she said, they could show the magic they had made and could learn from each other, free from persecution and ridicule. She hoped that if this first meeting went well, they might form a regular Society and gather here often; she hoped that they might even become a force to oppose the Master of Nottingham in his treatment of magic in general, and of women magicians in particular.

By now the early rays of the sun were streaming into the clearing. Time being limited, Margaret closed her address by inviting any of those present to demonstrate spells they had learnt or devised. Donata began, with her spell of making birds and other creatures from the leaves of the woodland floor, and using them—having combined her own invention with Margaret’s—to send messages for her. Many of the others followed her: Alice made more lights, magical lamps that changed in colour and quality and seemed somehow to alter the mood of those around them, turning sharp faces gentle or soft ones strange and harsh; Joscelin Trent made a fountain of clear water spout from the side of an oak tree; Edith Hatfield used the puddle that this created to show them a vision of a strange gloomy place of dark trees and crumbling walls, which she claimed was the courtyard of the King’s castle in Faerie. Donata was enthralled. The bounds of magic receded into the distance, and she resolved to practise all these new spells when she returned to Nottingham. The other magicians clearly felt similarly. Alice approached Donata to wonder whether her bird-making spell might be extended from dead to living leaves, and what such a creature might look like. They both determined to try the modification and share their results at the next meeting—for by now it was clear enough to all of them that there would be a next meeting.


	2. Chapter 2

Things went on in this way for another year. They met on irregular dates, so as not to arouse suspicion, but always in the same place. Sometimes they did magic together, and shared new spells as they had at the first meeting; at other times they talked of the state and future of magic, and these discussions turned frequently and inevitably to the subject of the situation they were placed in by the Master of Nottingham’s intolerance of women magicians.

‘Has the King forbidden women to learn magic, or perform it?’ said Edith, on one such occasion. It was early in February, and the wood was cold and bare; wide patches of pale sky were visible between the branches, and the fields Donata had passed through on her way to the meeting were silver with frost. Alice had made a little magical flame to hover in the air in front of her, at which she warmed her hands as she listened.

‘No, he hasn’t!’ went on Edith. ‘If women’s magic was really such an evil thing as Hugh Torel tells us, weaker than men’s or more untrustworthy, the King would know it better than any—but he’s never said anything of the sort. Hugh Torel isn’t only doing us an injustice, he’s setting himself up as knowing more about magic than the King. He must have a high opinion of his own judgement!’

This was met by murmurs of agreement, and laughter.

‘He doesn’t think women’s magic is weaker than men’s,’ said Joscelin. ‘Why would he go to the lengths he does to stop us doing it, if it was? We couldn’t hurt him if we were weak. No, he thinks we’re stronger. He’s scared of us—and after all I’ve seen from you, I think it’s the one thing he’s got right!’

More laughter. For Donata it was strange and oddly freeing to hear her father talked of in this way; put him at a remove from them, and mock him in the position he set up for himself, and he became the harmless object of a derision that they all shared, no longer the shadow cast over her lonely life and the constant fear of discovery. And neither was she so afraid, with so many others beside her to share the dangers and the strange triumphs of their life.

Nevertheless, they were aware of the danger that discovery really represented for all of them; and the difficulties that faced them came from within as well as without. It was about a month later, as they were preparing to leave the wood, upstream to Nottingham or downstream to Fiskerton by the secret ways that they had devised to cover the distance, that Alice said to Donata, ‘Aren’t you ever afraid, coming here? That your father might notice you going, I mean. You’re slipping out from right under his nose.’

Donata frowned. ‘Of course I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘Aren’t we all? But I care enough about magic—and about the society—to come anyway.’

Something still seemed to be bothering Alice; as Donata spoke she fiddled with the strings of her cloak, and glanced two or three times over her shoulder as though afraid to be overheard. At last she said, ‘The fact is, Donata, I think it’s dangerous for you all to come here from Nottingham. You’re giving Hugh Torel an opportunity to find us out. I think it would be better if the rest of us met somewhere else—at the moment, if he sees anything in Nottingham, then we’re all discovered. That’s it. I’m not the only one who thinks so, either.’ She turned and strode quickly away down the road, catching up with Joscelin and Margaret before Donata had collected her thoughts enough to say anything.

Donata thought seriously over Alice’s warning—if warning it had been—in the two weeks that followed, before the next meeting. That they were all in danger of discovery was something she and all the magicians had been aware of ever since they began meeting, but Donata could not believe that some of their number coming from Hugh Torel’s city was a particular risk for them. She, for instance, did not intend ever to get caught leaving Nottingham, but she had thought out what to do if she was: confess to her own study of magic, say that she was going to the woods to practise alone, as she had actually used to do before meeting Margaret—and leave the rest of the society not only undiscovered, but warned by her absence that something might have gone wrong in Nottingham. She had no doubt that Edith, or Joan, or any of the others would do the same, if it was them. In the end, she decided to go to the next meeting, prepared to stand up for herself and the others if Alice should repeat her arguments. Alice had claimed that some of the other Fiskteron magicians agreed with her, but Donata was sure it could not be all. Certainly Margaret would not.

In the meantime, Donata had other things to think of. They had more visitors in Nottingham, a party led by a lord from south of the Trent—come to discuss issues relating to trade and transport along the river but also, Donata suspected though she had not been told, the possibility of a marriage between herself and this lord’s son. She had always been aware, in a vague abstract way, of marriage as something her future would probably contain, but had never actively desired it—had certainly never fallen in love with any man—and had no wish at all for it now, especially not a match that would take her south across the border and remove her from the fellowship of magicians. Much of her time for the next two weeks was taken up with eavesdropping on her father’s discussions, and trying to find some way to use magic to influence his decision. She was relieved to learn that the southern lord seemed opposed to the match—his son had another potential bride in Herefordshire, a more advantageous possibility, apparently—but, after all, that only gave her more time.

Margaret was married, of course. They had talked about it before, when discussing the future; while Margaret and John Ford were not in love and had never pretended to be, it was an amicable partnership and an arrangement that suited Margaret for the present. But he was Lord of Fiskerton and a kind man, and Donata knew well that she might not be so lucky. Of course, a true love match was an impossible dream, but...

But she was beginning to think that the new freedom brought by magic was giving her ideas.

Donata was pacing around the garden as she tried to set these thoughts straight in her mind, and now she reached the spot under the birch tree where she had first spoken of magic to Margaret, such a long time ago as it seemed now. She smiled at the memory as she looked up towards the faint suggestion of green that now adorned the drooping twigs. If she could live amongst trees all her life, she thought, and never have to worry about other people’s rules for marriage or magic, she would be happy.

It was in the quiet peace that these ideas brought her that she let into her mind the one thought that all the others had been circling round: that she loved Margaret, and wished to be with her wherever they went, under trees or along fairy roads or away from Nottingham forever. Not only that, but she dared to think that what they had made now, with their magic and their secret fellowship, might make such a thing possible.

*

She arrived at the Gunthorpe wood a little later than most of the others. As she followed the familiar path towards the clearing that had become theirs, brushing aside branches of hazel and hawthorn bright with newly-unfolding leaves, she heard voices raised in argument. One of them, she realised as she came closer, was Margaret’s.

A little group were gathered in the clearing: four or five of the Fiskerton magicians, including both Alice and Margaret, at one side and an equal number of Nottingham magicians at the other. Margaret beckoned her over, and said in a low voice, ‘Have you heard any of this before?’

‘I think I have,’ said Donata, looking round at the others. ‘What do you make of it?’

Margaret, following her gaze, sighed deeply. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘sit down, please.’ She seated herself on a fallen log, making room for Donata beside her, and waited for the others to do the same.

She addressed the Fiskerton side of the gathering first. ‘You have been telling me,’ she said, ‘that having magicians come from so far distant on two sides is a danger to us; in particular, magicians from Nottingham put us at risk of being discovered by Hugh Torel, if he finds us through them. I won’t dismiss what you’ve said’—she turned now towards the Nottingham side—‘but I think you’re wrong. I think Donata and the rest of you have as much right to be here as we do, and we’re better off for them being here.’

At this point Donata interrupted. ‘Don’t think we’re not taking precautions to avoid discovery. I showed you that spell two months ago, Alice. No one’s running more risks than they have to.’

Margaret smiled, and went on: ‘We’re all in danger: which of us doesn’t know someone who’d report us to Nottingham, if they found us out? My husband, good man as he is, wouldn’t risk his position keeping my secret, and I reckon he’s as likely to notice me going as Donata’s father is to notice her, or anyone else in Nottingham. They’ve no more to bear than the rest of us.’

A few of her listeners were nodding, perhaps thinking of the people in their own lives who put them in what was effectively the same position.

‘Alice, all of you, if you’re still scared,’ Margaret said, ‘and I don’t blame you, we’re all facing terrible danger just being magicians—if you think we’re running too great a risk, then it’s your choice to stop coming. But I won’t split the group up, and neither will Donata.’—Donata nodded—‘We’re in the same position, and we’re not each other’s enemies. Hugh Torel is, and we’re stronger for remembering that.’

‘Well said,’ put in Joscelin, standing up. ‘I’m staying with you.’

Others joined her, and so it was agreed. A few of their members did leave, then and at other times—one who had too much work to do at the brewery, and feared to be missed there; another who said she would take the risk for herself, but could not take it for her children—but Alice was not among them. Though she said nothing at the time, a little while later she admitted privately to Donata that she had been scared, that Margaret’s speech had forced her to acknowledge the fact and to make her own choice what to do about it, ‘and,’ as she put it, ‘I’m still here now, so you can see what choice I made.’

*

Donata and Margaret were the last to leave the meeting that day, as they often were. Margaret was gathering up a few things to take with her—an exotic-looking multi-coloured rose which had until that morning been a crab-apple twig, but which they could hardly leave in the wood as it was now, and a small polished basin that Edith had found more convenient than puddles on the ground for conjuring visions in—while Donata murmured the words of the spell to undo the trampled grass, snapped hazel branches, and other evidence of their presence in the wood.

When the spell was finished, she watched Margaret for a few moments, then said, ‘Thank you for saying all you did today.’

‘Hmm. It’s what I should do, if I’m to be a leader of this fellowship. It would be a shame if such a thing broke apart because we couldn’t keep from fighting.’ Margaret was still concentrating on her task, not looking at Donata.

‘Very much,’ said Donata. ‘And I’m glad we’ve got you.’

‘The thing was your idea in the first place! And it’s an opportunity we won’t get anywhere else. It would be a terrible thing to let it fall apart now. No, I’d fight to keep what we have.’

‘You care that much for it.’

‘Of course I care!’ Now Margaret turned to face her, her expression half stubborn pride and half amused irritation. ‘Women magicians are in an impossible situation here, and not just because Hugh Torel doesn’t like us. That we’ve managed to do this with it—that we’ve made this escape—if I’m going to care about anything, Donata, I think it should be that.’

She paused, then said with an altered tone, ‘I should thank you too. None of this would have happened without you.’ Looking at Donata with her strange, lovely half-smile, she took her hand. 

Donata leaned forward and kissed her.

When they broke apart, Margaret, her arms still round Donata’s waist, said, ‘Yes, that’s what I meant. There are more reasons than magic to be glad of what we have here.’ Donata, who had not opened her eyes, could hear the laughter in her voice.

*

For years the society of magicians flourished. They were no longer two groups from Fiskerton and Nottingham; women came to the Gunthorpe wood from all around, and their numbers grew steadily. Their magic, too, continued to develop, and they began to discuss, amongst other things, plans to use the fairy roads to travel north to Newcastle.

Perhaps it was inevitable that, things being so, they could not remain entirely hidden. Their safeguards and precautions held for now, but rumours were beginning to spread around North Nottinghamshire that there was a secret society of women magicians; and, Donata knew, her father was aware of these rumours. She told the others of this, one day in the wood.

‘He knows—or at least he suspects, and that’s enough—that we’re here. If I know him, then he’ll keep looking until he finds out who and where we are, and then he’ll do as much as he can to destroy us. You should hear him talk about witches... We should make a plan for what to do if that happens, now, while we’ve got some time.’

Opinions on what this plan should be were varied. On one thing were those still assembled here agreed: that simply giving up magic and living lives that Hugh Torel would consider blameless was not an option.

‘Well, we can’t fight him,’ said Joscelin. ‘I suppose the only other thing to do is leave. Get where he couldn’t reach us.’

‘Where?’ said Alice. ‘To Newcastle? I suppose we could all make the journey, but it’s a long way even on the fairy roads—and we’d need time...’

‘I don’t think we need to go so far,’ said Margaret, who had until now been silent, carefully watching the others as they discussed ideas. ‘Besides,’ she added with a smile, ‘that would be too much like running away. No, I think we must stay in Nottinghamshire—but live, and practise magic, in secret. Find some place away from the Master of Nottingham’s gaze where we can live undisturbed, and stay there in peace.’

This suggestion was greeted with a heavy silence. Joscelin and a few others looked up, understanding.

‘We’d become outlaws,’ said Donata.

Margaret’s smile widened. ‘I think we’re well suited for it, don’t you?’

They spent the rest of that morning working out their plans. Certainly they had between them enough of both mundane woodcraft and magic to make a life for themselves in the wild, and though some were reluctant to take such a drastic step, enough were willing to make it possible—and, as Margaret pointed out, no one had to make a final decision until—if—the moment came. They made their preparations. Those who had worked on spells in any way relevant to the life of outlaws practised and developed them, to be of more use when they were needed; Hilda and Margery, two recent recruits to the group who lived near the borders of Sherwood Forest, went to search for a suitably remote place there; and so they waited.


	3. Chapter 3

How Hugh Torel did eventually learn of the existence of their fellowship, Donata never knew for certain.

He did not confront her directly; she went on thinking that the charms she cast to deceive him and prevent him noticing her absences were working as well as ever, until one spring morning as she walked along the road towards Gunthorpe, talking to Joan about the spell they had been working on together, to separate an object from its shadow. They were at the front of the group, with several of the other Nottingham magicians following behind, and so they were the first to reach the crest of the hill from where they could see towards the wood.

Joan cried out; Donata froze on the spot, her hands over her mouth. The others, realising that something was wrong, hurried up the hill to join them, and saw below them the wood, aflame. For some moments none of them could do otherwise than stand silent in amazement and dismay.

Donata’s first thought, when she recovered from the shock enough to think at all, was for the magicians who approached the wood from the other direction. She set off running along the Gunthorpe road, the others following. When they reached the turning onto the little track leading into the wood, she instructed Edith to approach as close to the wood as she might safely do and investigate, while she continued along the road to intercept the Fiskerton party, and the others remained at the turning to avoid missing them.

She continued staring at the burning wood for a few moments after giving these instructions. Closer to, there was something unnatural about the flames; but whether it was simply the strangeness of such a large fire, or something else... ‘Get a look if you can,’ she said in a low voice to Edith. ‘There’s something funny going on. Don’t put yourself in danger if it’s real fire, but find out if you can whether it is.’

Two minutes’ run along the road, and still within sight of the wood, she met the Fiskerton magicians. Margaret ran forward to meet her, and grasped her hand.

‘I’ve sent Edith to investigate,’ said Donata, trying to catch her breath. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. I think it might be magic.’

Margaret looked towards the burning wood, eyes narrowed. ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘That’s not real fire. Standing oak trees don’t burn like that.’ Raising her voice, she called to the others to follow them to the track.

Edith was waiting there to meet them. ‘You were right,’ was the first thing she said to Donata. ‘Not a blackened twig or a withered leaf. It wasn’t even hot—I could touch the stuff. Who’s done this?’

Having made certain that the fire was magical, this was inevitably the first question that occurred to them all—and there was one clear answer.

‘You say the flames didn’t hurt you, Edith?’ said Margaret. ‘Well then, I think we know what he’s doing. Not trying to burn us out, yet—this is a warning.’

She raised her hand, murmured a few words—those of Joscelin’s spell to draw a stream of water from the air and trees—and brought down a shower of rain upon the fire.

‘That’s worth a try. Magic water ought to put out magic fire, I reckon,’ observed Joscelin, and joined her.

With all the magicians working together, it was not long before the magical flames had vanished. The bark covered with bright lichens, and the new leaves sprouting from the buds, showed no sign that the fire had ever been.

*

Three days later, the Master of Nottingham issued a proclamation against the wicked and treacherous magic of women.

‘It has come to my knowledge,’ he announced, from his place at the head of the hall, ‘that there exists a society of witches, the purpose of which is to confuse the order of this land, and to oppose my own power and that of all rightful rulers. I have already begun to exercise my own magic against them, but they are strong—strong enough to undermine us from within. This society must be destroyed. I have taken...’

Donata, standing pale and silent beside him, stared at the floor. He had said nothing in the last three days to indicate to her that he knew—and yet he must know. Had he found out through her, or learned of her belonging to the society from some other source? Or was there a chance that he was really oblivious? It was scarcely possible that he could know enough about the fellowship to send a spell to the precise time and place of their meeting, without knowing that his own daughter was one of its leaders.

‘We must uncover the secret haunts of the witches, find them out and bring their dark magic to the light of day. For their crime of treachery they shall hang...’

Her hands twisted together so tightly she thought the bones might break. Did he seek to spare her, by turning away from the certainty of her guilt? Was he deluding himself, unable to face the knowledge that she had betrayed him? Or was he keeping her here, one of the flies already safe in the web, trapped in uncertainty so that she would not try to escape?

Whatever his reason, Donata resolved, she would not let him continue.

She confronted him that afternoon.

‘Father,’ she said, voice quiet but steady, ‘you know that I am a magician. You know that I am a member of this fellowship who you call witches. Why don’t you say anything?’

He did not do otherwise now; when she forced herself to look him in the face, he was simply regarding her silently, expression blank—but it was the blankness of knowing deliberation, not the blankness of confusion. She had guessed correctly.

Donata forced herself to continue speaking. If there was anything she could do to save her fellow magicians, even at risk to her own safety or freedom, she would do it. ‘Our magic is not wicked. We seek to do good, not harm, and we do not challenge your authority. Why do you oppose us? You are a magician yourself—if you go to meet the fellowship, if you work with us, we might both help each other—’

‘Be silent,’ said Hugh Torel. She looked up again, gaze faltering a little now. For some moments neither of them spoke. Then he continued, ‘You are not to meet this “fellowship” again—you are not to see any of these magicians again. There will be no more charms or evasions. You will remain here—’

‘No,’ she said, weakly, and then louder, ‘No! Father, you must listen—how can you try to ruin these magicians—they’ve done nothing—I am one of them—’

Coolly he ignored her. His voice was implacable as a heavy stone. ‘You will remain here, and nothing more will be said about your actions, disgraceful as they have been. I don’t want a personal scandal; this whole affair has been troublesome enough already. You may go free when the last of them have been captured or fled the county.’

Again Donata looked him in the eyes, and she knew there was no more argument.

*

Donata’s hands trembled as she made the gesture that accompanied her spell of revelation, but the spell was sound, and the conclusion sure. There was no magic on the door, or on the window. He had locked her in the high room and placed a guard on the door, but had put no spell in place to keep her there. Simple oversight it might be, but she was inclined to think he had underestimated how much of a magician she was.

She crossed to the window, doing up the strings of her cloak as she went, and looked out into the growing dusk. Not long now. She must move under cover of darkness, but she knew where she was going.

Silently she shaped a spell to turn the glass of the window to water; the water flowed away, half cascading down the outside wall and the other half washing over Donata’s boots, and the cool air of the evening crept into the room. She leaned out of the window, a breeze lifting the ends of her hair, and whispered a word to the ivy that grew over the old stones. The brown stems moved, twisted, sent forth green shoots, and crept by inches over the window frame and down the wall. By now Donata was sitting on the damp stone where the window had been. She gripped a stem of the ivy, testing it; it held firm, and she lowered herself slowly out of the window, and climbed down the wall, and was gone.

*

In the dark before the dawn she lay in Margaret’s arms. Margaret had insisted that she eat something and warm herself by the fire before trying to explain anything; now Donata roused herself from her dozing and told her in a few words what had happened. ‘So I came here,’ she finished, slowly, ‘but I can’t stay—none of us can stay, my father won’t give this up—where’s John?’

‘Away, for a few days yet,’ said Margaret. ‘It doesn’t matter, we’ve got time.’ Her voice was quiet and measured. ‘And I think your father has already begun. Joscelin told me earlier that a wave rose from the river and tried to pull her in, as she walked beside it yesterday. Not a natural thing in the Trent, I don’t think.’

Donata stared. ‘We can’t stay here. We must leave—now.’

‘Shh.’ Margaret pulled Donata closer to her. ‘Calm down. It’s not so urgent as that. We have the morning.’ She smiled with something of her old bright look as she continued, ‘And we’ve laid our plans. Everything’s ready. We only have to let the others know we’re going, and go...’

It was an immense thing to contemplate. Of course she had known that an end like this was inevitable sooner or later, but that it should be so soon, and so sudden... Her life, and all their lives, must be changed utterly, for the sake of their magic and all that they had built together. At one time Donata might have asked herself if it was worth it; but now she thought over her memories of all their secret meetings in the wood, of the strange and wonderful magic she had seen and of the freedom she had found there, and felt Margaret’s arms around her, and knew that it was.

‘We have nothing to fear from the wild,’ said Margaret, and Donata, head drooping on her shoulder, smiled up at her. ‘The trees and the rivers won’t oppose us. The briars and the wolves and the night are ours, because English magic is at our command... and I’m talking great nonsense,’ she added, abruptly switching from dreamy abstraction to her everyday manner and startling Donata awake, ‘and you, my love, need to sleep. We’ll talk about our plans in the morning.’

*

Five days later they set out together towards Sherwood, and never came back.

They made their camp in a wooded dell, far enough away from anywhere the foresters frequented to be unobserved; Donata and Edith set spells of concealment about the wood, while Joscelin and Margaret set about building shelters, and others sorted through the stores of food they had brought or set out to find more. In a week, they had fallen into their new roles; in a month they began to feel that they belonged to the place, and carried out their tasks with comfortable confidence; in a year, it was as if they had never known any other life.

It was not without hardships, of course. Many of the women had reason to miss the lives they had left behind; they had given up their stations and professions, their families, husbands, and friends, the old familiar places of their homes. Some members of the fellowship had chosen not to come, and stayed in the world and renounced magic instead. But for those who remained, the sheer unimagined freedom of their new lives outweighed everything else. Here they could do whatever magic they would; here none of them need think of discovery by Hugh Torel or anyone else who opposed them; here Margaret and Donata—and they were not the only pair in such a situation—could live together without fear. Here, they answered to no one but the air, the trees, the sky, the bone and soul of England.

*

Early one morning, perhaps two months after their flight, Mary, on watch for that night, raised the alarm that a stranger was approaching the clearing where they dwelt. Those who were not already awake rose quickly, and gathered around the old oak tree with two trunks, growing on a rise in the ground, that marked the boundary of their dwelling.

The stranger was intermittently visible through the trees. He did not look like a bandit, nor an agent of the Master of Nottingham; he was tall and dressed in a long grey robe, with wild-looking greyish hair, and apparently unarmed. And, Donata realised as he approached closer, he was looking at them. Not just towards them—he could see them.

‘I know him,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’ve seen him before. He’s Thomas Godbless, the magician.’

‘A powerful magician?’ asked Mary, in a low voice.

‘I think so.’

‘Then he can probably see through the spells. Do you think he’s safe to let in?’

Donata decided that he was, and a small group of them set off down the slope to meet Godbless and ask what he meant by coming here.

‘No harm,’ he said in answer. ‘I know who you are, of course, but I was not searching for you. I was simply wandering through the Forest, and I must wonder who had surrounded this part of it with spells of guarding. I’m glad you have found this place; it is a good land, and the trees are kind.’

‘Kinder than the lords of Nottingham, I’m sure,’ said Margaret. He smiled, and bowed to her.

Once they were all satisfied that Godbless was a friend, the magicians invited him back to their camp to breakfast with them. He brought them news from the world outside.

‘Hugh Torel seems to think,’ he said in his slow, ponderous way, over a bowl of porridge, ‘that you have hidden yourselves away to plot revenge against him,’ (Donata hadn’t thought about him for days), ‘and he is still looking for you. Seeing the safeguards on this place, I think it’s very unlikely that he will have any success,’ here he smiled approvingly, ‘but even so, I wish to offer you my help and protection. On the outside, after all, I can see more clearly what he is doing. I will gladly oppose any magic he does to find you or harm you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Donata. ‘I think we’d all welcome such an ally.’ She looked round at the others, who nodded or murmured agreement.

‘Also,’ he went on, ‘I might let the King know what is happening here. It is a long way from Newcastle—it’s taken me months to walk here, though I dawdle on the roads—and I think John Uskglass may not be aware of all that the Master of Nottingham has said and done regarding women magicians. Things are not so all through the kingdom as they are here, you know.’

Later, Donata and Margaret accompanied Thomas Godbless to the edge of their little realm. ‘We’ve had a plan of going to Newcastle ourselves for some time,’ said Donata. ‘We’ve been working out how we might use the fairy roads to get there. So if you do go and see the King, some of us might go with you.’

‘I’d be glad of it,’ said Godbless. They were silent for a while, then he said, ‘If Hugh Torel could be persuaded to stop his persecutions, would you go back?’

The two women looked at each other. ‘No,’ said Donata, ‘we would not.’

‘I think,’ Margaret said slowly, ‘there is no better place than the wild to do magic. After all, you yourself are a wanderer.’

He inclined his head gravely. ‘I am. There are many reasons for going to the greenwood.’

Margaret smiled. 

They were come to the edge of the wood, and the track leading away northward. Around them the sounds of the summer wood—a wood-pigeon’s wingbeats in its flight high above the trees, the buzzing of hoverflies as they darted between light and shade, a squirrel skittering along a branch—were soft against a heavy silence that might have been the breathing of the trees themselves. Godbless bade them goodbye, hoped that they might meet again, and set off along the path.

*

They lived the rest of their lives in the greenwood. Others joined them, in time; magicians, and girls with their own reasons for running away who came to live under their protection, and many of whom learnt magic from them. The situation for women magicians in the wider kingdom did improve, and some of these pupils later went out into the world and became respected magicians, at Newcastle and elsewhere. After a while there were fewer reasons for them to live as outlaws, and the Nottinghamshire Fellowship faded into a memory.

And, much later, people told stories about Margaret Ford and the Master of Nottingham’s daughter: how Margaret was an evil magician, and how the heroic Master of Nottingham’s daughter fought courageously against her. Perhaps these came at first from the lies Hugh Torel made up to explain what had happened to his daughter, who vanished from the historical record in 1159 and was never heard of again; or perhaps people simply had certain expectations about how witches ought to behave, and cast their stories in an old familiar shape. In any case, there were other stories, too, and perhaps not entirely unconnected: about outlaws of the greenwood, heroic outlaws who escaped the persecution of the powerful and cruel, and lived free and untroubled in the wild lands of the England that was theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Maurice by E. M. Forster, from a passage in which Maurice speculates that some of the outlaws of old might have been gay, like himself. I thought it would be interesting to apply this idea to the context of English magical history.
> 
> The book is slightly ambiguous about whether the part of Nottinghamshire this fic takes place in is actually in the Kingdom of Northern England—I've decided to take the line about the Trent being the border literally and assume it is, but only just.


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